x e I I i x
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- Posted: Thu, 17 Jan 2013 01:56:35 +0000
HUNGRIGER BÄR—SEPTEMBER 22; 03:57—CONTACT WITH EMILIAN//O'CONNER
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Disgraceful, thought Solomon with a deep frown lining his usually passive features. She entered and forced all eyes in the small café upon her frame, but he merely kept his own eyes low for her entrance did not concern him as much as the table did. Calls from the undoubtedly drunken Germans riddled the calm of the café with unwanted sound, bothering the pilot more than he’d liked it to. It was far too early in the morning for this s**t and her arrival was just the beginning of this irritancy storm. And before she could grace them with herself, the woman had to make a show upon a foolish man who dared to reach out towards her. And, as Solo’s eyes fell on the intelligent gentleman to perform such an act, he witnessed the poor fellow face the brunt of Aileen O'Connor’s fist and the whistles, calls, and murmuring ended with the breaking of bone. As if someone had thrown an expensive jewel to the floor just to see it shatter in the presence of the poor, the entire bar dissolved into a surprised silence, saved the sounds of the kitchen. And now, while he could not see, he could feel, their eyes followed her not for her curves and choice of clothes, but for her sense of danger. As for the fool who touched her, Solo wished him moments of hell with his broken nose. It was a churlish act for him; and in front of his wife as if he had no shame. But who was Solomon to judge on the subject of morals? When Confusion seated herself, the pilot realized that the hastily cleaned table held no interest for him and decided to meet her gaze with a question in his. He would have asked her why she decided to make such a scene when there were other, quiet ways of dealing with perverts. But he didn’t exactly find conversation with her pleasant, given that even her words had the potential to baffle him. So he let her comment go over his head, settling his stiff back against the worn upholstery of the booth. Completely shrugging out of his sable coat, Solomon remained silent when another waitress arrived in front of them. Conscious people, weren’t they? Wanting all the business they could get. He did not look over at Aileen as he prepared his German to tell the woman in a kind manner to go away. And he was about to do just that when the girl spoke up and cut him off. Immediately Solo’s eyes buried into her face and the gravity, about him thinned just a bit. He detested when people cut him off, it was one of the things that caused him to lose control. His hands scrambled up to the edge of the table where he gripped it as she put in her order. His fingernails dug into the soft wood with every syllable the girl spoke, only pulling themselves free when the waitress walked away.
“We are not…here to have breakfast, O’Connor.” The woman’s name came off his tongue as a curse though he did not intend for it to sound that way. “You should have eaten before you came here, otherwise you are being annoying.” His features were controlled enough to where no one around would think something was wrong but as he spoke, the table behind him began to rise. He felt this change in the area around him and begged himself to calm down, loosening muscles he were not aware had tensed and leaning away from the table as he had somehow went forward. Taking a small breath, he exhaled slowly through his nose. The simple action allowed the table to steadily descend from its climb back to the floor where it made a small click. The people sitting around it, so lost in their haze of alcohol, conversation, and cigarette smoke that they only glanced once at the table before they resumed their activities. Releasing the table from his death grip, Solomon removed thin wood chips from underneath his fingernails and laced his fingers together in front of him. Regarding the two women sitting before him with a detached stare, he slid his hand across the table till the tip of his knuckles touched the center. Turning his wrist over, he revealed a small blue panel embedded above the ulnar artery. The simple device was used for transporting files covertly, capable of storing up to sixty-four gigabytes of information. It was commonly used in the government and military so the technology was not new. However, Axis went to painstakingly extensive measures to assure that their data bases, which held all the files of every device, were encrypted with a thousand character code. One mistake and the entire system would shut down. The pilot often commented to the inventors of this system that the pass code needed to be longer and that a thousand characters were not nearly enough. But that was just his paranoia so he was subtly ignored. And so, as he thought the information was not secure enough, the pilot had a special program installed in the device on his wrist. Put in short terms, it was a self-explosion feature that would detonate when certain requirements were met. All of which only Solo knew. Some time ago, the pilot demanded that his teammates be fitted for the devices. The higher-ups and everyone in a right mind at the time responded with a firm no. And his reply was to bring down the entire tech center, but he only succeeded in destroying one section. The battle simulators were shut down temporarily as punishment so Solomon decided to leave the matter alone, for now.
Solo placed only one piece of information inside the device for safety reasons. And that information was the operation specs of Axis’ Alpha team, which consisted of Emilian, O’Connor and himself. The other two, Giovanni D’Ambrosio and Krister Ingram, were respected but secondary and unimportant as far as his particular mission was concerned. The tiny blue panel flashed once. Solo decided now was the time to make extra safety precautions and reached inside his pocket for another device. Removing his hand, his fingers came away with something pinched between their tips. That thing was a thin glass like item that was no more than an inch in length and width. The pilot carefully placed the device beside his wrist, tapping it’s reflective surface. With that done, he waited for the files he currently carried to load. A pin like sapphire orb darted into the area above his hand, exploding like a mini firework. Smaller blue orbs branched out around the explosion, shortly halting in their advance as if prevented passage by an invisible wall. The orbs then exploded, but into transparent grid panels that grew out diagonally in digital squares, each orb spreading out until the length of the panels separated were nearly the shape of the table. When they combined, a 3D model of their current location sprang to life. A scale of the café presented itself, forming all the patrons inside including themselves. As Solo finalized the projection, he eyed himself occasionally, a slight smirk darting across his lips at the sight of his extremely attractive digitalized form. Sweeping a hand over the corner of the panel, the entire café model disappeared, replaced by the Alpha Team’s future destination. “You have been briefed,” started Solomon in a monotonous voice. “This is our current objective.” He pointed towards the projection, and it pixilated until the model displayed an actual battle occurring. “Axis is close to obtaining Belgium, and we would have succeeded beforehand…except for one unexpected event.” With a glide of his fingers, the model zeroed in on the field’s surface. The warring strife, in live action, was appearing as a blur with this current model, but Solo did not mind. His concern was not on the thousands of Entente forces dying at the hands of Axis soldiers. “I have looked into them already, but there is not much information. It seems that Entente is keeping close tabs.” He knew he was not making much sense to the women, but he did not want them to point this out. “Entente has a few…members, with powers such as ours. They are being sent to Belgium to conclude the stalemate. We must head to the battle for a counter attack and make sure that they do not leave the field alive. We currently do not have visual information on these people, so we must assume that anyone wielding abnormal strength like ours should be killed on sight. If yo-“
This was the time the waitress chose to arrive with a mug of steaming hot coffee gripped in her wrinkled fist, and several plates of food lined on the length of her homely arms, pressing her girth against the table so she could lean down and place the ordered items before their customers. While Solo was quite sure that the tiny glass panel prevented the patrons in the café from overhearing their conversation or peering directly at them to view their plans, he should have been at ease. But the woman still startled him to the point where instead of allowing her to put her last plate on the table, O’Connor’s hash brown, he maneuvered his gravity towards her, the tower of momentum starting from the back of the café, charging at the woman with the speed of 40mph and the weight of a small car, shoving her half way through the café. The plate flew from her hand and it would have hit Solo had he not snatched it from the air and dropped it in front of O’Connor with a loud clatter that bordered on shattering. The woman herself was slammed against the floor; face first, her body twisting in a circular motion before her crash. She took a few bar stools and several customers with her, and they all landed in a confused and moaning heap fifteen feet away from where Solo sat. He immediately pushed up from his seat to stand. The projection shut off in a wink of light. “Alte Hexe,” Old witch, he spat in a fit of rising anger. “Tun Sie das nicht wieder oder das nächste Mal wird dein Leben sein!” Do not do that again or the next time will be your life! His hands twitched violently but he ignored them. His expression when he twisted his face back to his teammates was distorted with a superfluous rage. Feeling the stretch of skin over facial bone, Solomon quickly schooled his profile back into neutrality and reached for his coat. “Questions?” he said as if he had not just forced an innocent waitress’ body across the room. Pulling on his sable and feeling some form of comfort in the soft fur, he bundled up for the bitter cold, sliding his still agitated hands into sable gloves. “If not, finish up here. We are leaving for the battlefield when you are ready.” With that, he made his way out of the café, pushing past the fallen customers who were just now picking their tangled and bruised bodies off the floor. Their eyes did not meet his, but he could hear the annoyed whispers following him out the door. A sharp pain shot through his skull and he winced but continued on, feeling the tendrils of Belgium’s ice and snow beckon him into their quiet folds.